


Eye for an Eye (makes the whole world blind)

by Talinor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boss Lance, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mention of Gang Violence, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experience, Not Graphic but there's Violence, Protective Lance, Right Hand Man Keith, Saints Row 2 AU, Swearing, injured keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talinor/pseuds/Talinor
Summary: Keith managed a weak smile. "You'd miss me too much," he said. "Who's gonna... pull your flat ass outta the... fire when I'm gone?"He raised his brows in fake surprise. "Okay, one- my ass isnotflat, thank you very much." He stepped up to the chain and readied the axe. "Two- I pullyoursout of the fire just as much." If not more. Keith had always liked to pick fights since the day they first met. "And three- don't talk like that."





	1. Vindication

**Author's Note:**

> this was a draft in my notes from a few months ago and I liked it so I finished it  
> enjoy!

Half an hour.

Lance had been standing at the street corner for a goddamn _half hour_ already, and no sign of the Red Lion yet. Red, otherwise known as Keith, was one of Lance's top lieutenants. Practically his right hand man for the three years the Lions have been up and running under his leadership. When things went sour, like they usually did, there was no one else he trusted more at his side.

So why the _fuck_ was he so late?

Keith usually liked getting to their meetings early. Or he'd let Lance know if he was gonna be a bit late beforehand. Drop a call or at least a brief text if it wasn't a planned thing.

But Lance had nothing from him so far.

Part of him considered hopping into Blue a couple feet away and driving to his house to see what was keeping him so long. It wasn't like him to be completely silent like this. With every minute he watched cars hustle up and down the road, the idea sounded more and more appealing. He was getting sick and tired of the lingering smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the bare brick wall he leaned against.

Just as he was going to step toward his old reliable truck, the familiar ringtone and the vibration in his jeans' left pocket made him stop in his tracks. _Finally,_ he thought as he took his phone out and immediately accepted the call. 

Better late than never. 

He quickly brought the phone up to his ear.

"Keith," he said. "Where the fuck are you?"

 _"I think your people skills need some work, sweetie."_ A female-sounding voice that definitely wasn't Keith responded. He probably should've checked the caller ID.

But he didn't need to. He knew that voice- the girlfriend of El Muerte, the leader of a rival gang. A big guy, with arms and legs nearly covered in tattoos. The tacky prick tried to cut him a deal- an alliance between the two gangs. An idea Lance was initially fine with.

Until he heard the proposal for it- an 80/20 split. No negotiations.

Considering how big the Lions are in Altea City, that's just fucking _insulting._

But he'd already gotten his revenge for that a couple days ago. Just a little warning and a lesson, wrapped in one.

"Jessica," he said, tone changing from hard to familiar. Like they were the best of buddies. "How do you like Muerte's new tattoo?"

That 'revenge' might have involved some nuclear waste at the tattoo parlor Muerte went to. It was risky as hell, but he knew it was worth every bullet. He was just lucky Keith knew how to fly a helicopter.

_"Actually, I think it's pretty sexy. Rugged, tough..."_

Lance couldn't contain his smirk. "Radioactive."

 _"That's cute."_ She didn't sound very amused.

"I try," he leaned one shoulder against the wall. "Now what the hell do you want?"

 _"Well, I just wanted to let you know that since you were nice enough to give my man a makeover, I thought I'd return the favor."_ Lance froze, the smirk immediately dropping off his face. _"Don't worry. Once I'm through with him, your little boyfriend will look_ just _as handsome as mine."_

Realization and horror hit him like a speeding freight train. Fiery anger quickly followed. "Listen up, you _bitch--"_

 _"Of course, I don't have access to the same materials you did,"_ She sounded way too smug about it. He couldn't wait to take care of that. _"But, y'know, I figured I can make do."_

Lance scowled. "When I find you-"

 _"I'm sure you'll do something_ scary." The thick sarcasm in her voice only stoked his anger. _"Do me a favor- when you're scraping your buddy Keith's face off the docks, just remember: Muerte gave you the chance to be his partner."_

With that, she hung up.

Lance spared no time getting to Blue. He quickly threw the door open, slid into the black leather seat, and slammed it shut. He reached into the glove compartment, quickly plucking the keys out and plugging them into the ignition. There was no time to spare for trivial things like a seatbelt or traffic laws. He needed to get to the docks.

He could only hope it wasn't already too late.

Blue raced down the road, her driver disregarding every red light and barely zipping past anyone crossing the street. Police Chief Allura was probably gonna be pissed about it later, but he knew her. She'd understand. He was a man on a mission, blood pumping and heart thumping in his ears.

Thankfully, Altea City's docks weren't too far away. It only took like 5 minutes at worst, but it felt like an hour. He gripped the steering wheel like his hands were made of iron. His knuckles paled. He scanned his surroundings, looking for a sign of Keith or where he could possibly be.

 _Please let him be safe._ Lance wasn't really a praying man, never had been, but this was gonna be an exception.

Something a few feet up in the next lane caught his eye.

A black pickup truck with white swirling decor, the familiar insignia of a skull on the back. It drove a lot like Lance was. As he inched closer, he saw something else. Something that made his stomach sink.

Keith, in his black shirt and jeans, with his hands zip-tied in front of him and his back against the asphalt. His dark red bandana was stuffed into his mouth. A chain wrapped heavily around his leg attached to the back of the truck, pulling him along for the ride like a stuffed animal on a leash going for a 'walk.' From what Lance saw of him, he looked pretty bad. He didn't have very long.

Time to improvise.

Blue followed behind the truck for a minute or so. He noticed they weren't really going anywhere, just joyriding in a circle on the almost abandoned street. He could work with that, if he could just catch up to them.

But no matter how hard Lance's foot pressed against the gas pedal, Blue stayed just a bit behind the truck. She simply wasn't built to be that fast. Except when the nitrous mode Pidge added in a while back was on.

And just like that, an idea popped into his head.

It was stupid and risky, but when were his plans neither of those things? He needed to stop the car soon if he wanted to save his best lieutenant. Which, duh, he did.

He pulled the car off the road, tires tearing through the scattered patches of still-living grass. At her regular speed, Blue would barely hit the chain and probably rip Keith's leg off in the process. But if he timed it correctly, Blue would ram right into the side of the truck and stop both in their tracks.

Part of him would miss Blue. If he did this, she'd be wrecked well beyond repair. She was his first car- very old, but still reliable after so many years. But right now, as he was quickly nearing the moment of opportunity, he was faced with a choice. The car he'd had since he first learned to drive at 14, or his most trusted friend who'd saved his life more than once over the years.

He flicked the nitrous on and quickly dove out the side.

The rolled landing was rough, but he'd fared worse. He was only slightly disoriented when the unmistakable sounds of two cars crashing off the road met his ears. Hearing the metal crunch at impact and tires skidding off the road was the best kind of music he could hear right now.

He ignored his sore limbs and stood up, rushing to the wreckage. Dead grass crunched under his feet as his eyes quickly found Keith's body among the wreckage.

_Please be alive please be alive plea--_

Keith's eyes cracked open when Lance stepped onto the asphalt. Lance hurried to his side, assessing the damage.

Almost any bit of skin he could see was either pink or red. Scratches littered Keith's body, dozens of thin lines slashed through his stained clothes. His arms and face were in the best condition, with blooming bruises instead of cuts.

Lance quickly untied the knot in Keith's bandana, taking the makeshift gag out of his mouth. Keith gasped. His breathing was labored and ragged- not a good sign. He cupped Keith's face in his hands gingerly, noting his wince of pain with a pang of regret and anger. He was gonna make the fuckers who did this _pay._

But right now, he had something more important to focus on.

"Keith?" He said. "Buddy? Can you hear me?"

Keith nodded slightly. "Yeah," he said, voice rough and hoarse. "Just..." He swallowed with another slight wince. "Hurts."

"I know." He put a finger on Keith's busted lips when he opened them to speak. "Shh." Keith actually closed his mouth, putting on the least painful confused expression he could muster up. "Don't talk. Save your strength."

Despite the crash, the chain between Keith's leg and the truck hadn't broken. He inspected the metal for a brief moment. It didn't break at the impact, but it did look weaker. He stood up, heading to Blue's back. "Gimme a sec," he said, his hands quickly finding what he needed in the truck's bed. "I'm gonna need you to hold still, okay?"

"Sure," he barely heard Keith's scratchy reply. "Not like I can do much else."

Lance reached for the axe out of his small stockpile of weapons. Never hurt to be prepared, he used to say. Now he was glad he did. 

"Well, you're okay enough to be snarky," he said, slinging the axe over his shoulder casually. "So maybe I should just go and let you try and get outta this yourself, tough guy."

"You... wouldn't leave me here." The words held a hint of smugness, like it was a fact he knew pretty well.

Lance raised a brow and stepped closer. He continued the little act. "Oh?" He asked with the slightest interest. "Why do you think that?"

Keith managed a weak smile. "You'd miss me too much," he said. "Who's gonna... pull your flat ass outta the... fire when I'm gone?"

He raised his brows in fake surprise. "Okay, one- my ass is _not_ flat, thank you very much." He stepped up to the chain and readied the axe. "Two- I pull _yours_ out of the fire just as much." If not more. Keith had always liked to pick fights since the day they first met. Lance struck the chain once. It wasn't enough. "And three- don't talk like that." Another strike. 

"You're," 

_THWAK_

"Not,"

_THWAK_

"Gonna,"

_THWAK_

"Die,"

_THWAK_

"On,"

_THWAK_

"Me."

Finally the chain broke, the grimy metal falling to the ground. One problem down for the count.

But now Lance faced another one- how was he gonna get Keith to the hospital? The only two cars around them were wrecked to hell. Keith would definitely die before they got there if he tried carrying him. He wracked his brain for a solution. Who was close enough right now?

He took his phone out. The number he needed was one who could get here fast enough to get Keith to the hospital before he bled out from his nasty-looking wounds. He wracked his mind for someone, _anyone,_ who'd be willing to hitch him a ride in the area.

Hunk- Yellow Lion and designated mechanic- was on the other side of the city taking the day off. His little sister's birthday party. Even without traffic, he didn't want to tear Hunk away from family time. No matter the emergency. So he was a definite 'no'.

Pidge- Green Lion and hacker/electronic specialist- was... Actually, he had no idea what they were doing right now. Maybe it was better if he didn't. They were a great lieutenant for their age, but he was lowkey scared of them. Technically the kid didn't even have a permit, so they were a definite 'if there's no one else.'

Police Chief Allura or her boyfriend Shiro might do it. But not before a disappointed look the entire drive and a tired tirade about how _gang life is dangerous, Lance. You're a smart kid, you're better than this, blah blah blah stick lodged up my ass._ Lance really wasn't in the mood for that right now. He'd probably snap and say something stupid and wind up in a cell miles away from Keith's hospital room.

He looked through his contact list frantically, looking for _anyone_ even relatively preferable. "Come on, come _on,"_ he muttered under his breath with growing frustration. Keith groaned next to him. He didn't have much time left.

Screw it. He was going with Pidge. He pressed their lovingly-picked contact name- 'green goblin'- and pressed the call button. He put the phone to his ear and listening to the droning beeps. His fingers strummed on his leg with every one. His anxiety only rose with every passing moment.

 _Please pick up,_ he silently prayed. _Please be close please pick up_ there was a crushing grip on his chest now. _please please please be close please pick u--_

_"Hello?"_

"Pidge!" He said suddenly, barely letting them finish. "Ya' owe me a favor. I need to collect right now."

 _"What?"_ they said incredulously. _"Since when have you ever-"_

Frustration bubbled hot in his chest, singeing the filter between his brain and his mouth. "Did I fucking _stutter?"_ They started to say something, but he didn't give them the chance. He didn't have time to get into an argument right now. He could apologize to them later after this stress fest was over. "Keith and I are at the back road to the docks, he's bleeding out and I don't have a ride anymore, so haul your ass over here _now."_

_"What the hell do you mean 'you don't have a ride anymore'?! What happ-"_

_"Katie,"_ he said. "I'll play Twenty Questions with you all goddamn day if you want me to later, but if you don't get here in the next ten minutes I'm gonna chuck all your tech stuff back at HQ into the river. Don't think I fuckin' won't. And I won't pay to replace them, either."

 _"Okay, okay,"_ they said. _"No need to pull out names here. Jesus."_ he could hear them quickly shuffling papers in the background. _"Just gimme a sec. I'll get there in like five minutes at most."_

"For your sake," he leaned against the black truck bed. "I hope you do." With that, he hung up.

When he looked down at Keith, he saw a casually surprised expression. "What?" He asked. "There a problem?"

"No." Keith looked at himself. "Well, nothing more than all this." He gestured to himself and winced. "You just... caught me off guard with how you talked to Pidge, is all." He gave Lance a tired smile. "Maybe it's just 'cause I remember the guy you used to be. You've changed."

"Yeah," he said. "So have you, man."

"I like to think it's for the better." Keith grew quiet, giving the two a few moments of still-aired peace. Enough time to listen to cars racing by on the road a couple yards or so away. Cars driven by people who had people to see and places to go, too busy to look over and notice the wreckage.

"Hey, Lance?" Keith filled the silence with a shaky voice.

Lance knelt down to sit beside him. "Yeah?"

"Remember when we first met?"

Oh, he sure as hell did. A little over a decade ago, when he was only a fresh-eyed 20 year old who still thought the world was his oyster. Thought that moving to Altea City away from his family would be a fresh new start. Away from the screaming kids, the tired eyes of his parents every night, and the small rural town of people who knew too much about everybody else there. He thought it would be a newer, better life.

And he wasn't exactly wrong. It just didn't start the way he was expecting.

If he knew about the gangs in Altea, he probably wouldn't have moved there. But he didn't. And he found out about them in the worst way- caught in a firefight between two of the biggest ones at the time. The entire thing was hazy in his memory, but he remembered hiding under the nearest table and next thing he knew, a submachine gun was pointed at his face. The owner of said gun was shouting in rapid Spanish- mainly _'get out or I'll blow your fucking brains out'_ and other cheerful orders along those lines.

He'd moved out from the table terrified out of his mind, probably crying. The man kept shouting at him and grabbed his arm with a vice grip. For a moment, seeing all the bodies strewn about the floor and bullets flying all around him, he really thought he was gonna die.

Then a knife flew out of nowhere, the blade sinking into the side of the man's temple with ease. The grip on him tightened for a split second and then let go of him completely as the owner's corpse succumbed to gravity's pull. He looked over to see the owner- a messy black undercut to the right, piercing cold purple eyes, a red bandana over his mouth, and the same outfit as Lance's short-lived buddy on the floor.

"You okay?" He'd asked, extending a gloved hand to Lance.

"You..." His mind had been racing with what had just happened in front of him. "You _killed_ him."

He simply shrugged. "Sanchez was gonna kill you anyways. He was bringing you out to soak up a couple bullets for 'im." In the distance, he could hear faraway sirens and cars speeding away from the scene. "I wasn't gonna sit around and let 'im break one of the Lions' rules." He raised a brow at him. "Now, are you gonna take my hand or are you gonna wait for the cops to show up?"

To be honest, Lance didn't know why he took Keith's hand then. He didn't know why he sat down on Keith's sleek red motorcycle and let him drive the two to the old abandoned movie theater the Lions used as a HQ back then. He didn't know why he joined.

But he's glad he did.

And now here they were- the head of the Lions and his second-in-command. The Lions were bigger and better than ever before and towered above their competition easily. It was well-deserved after countless hours of hard work and almost dying many times, in his humble opinion.

This was just one of those times. Later, they were gonna look on this and laugh about it. Keith just had to hold out.

"So," Keith spoke up. "What're we gonna do about Muerte and his little posse?"

"'We' aren't going to do anything about them," Lance said matter-of-factly. _"You're_ gonna recover in the hospital."

Keith's brows furrowed in protest. "I could--"

"'You could' what?" Lance asked, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "Right now you can't even _move_ without hurting. And by the time you're out, I guarantee Muerte and his buddies are gonna be kicked off the fuckin' map."

He sighed. "I hate when you're right." He raised a brow. "Got anything special planned for him right now? I wanna hear it."

"Well, I got something in the works right now," Lance told him. "For his little girlfriend, Jessica."

"Oh?" Keith asked. "What would that be?"

"Nothing specific right now," he was still throwing around a few appealing options in his head right now. "But she called me. Taunted me a bit and said she 'was sure I'd do something scary' when I found her. I dunno about you," He grinned down at Keith slyly. "But that sounds like an invitation to me."

Keith returned it as well as he could manage. "I'd hate to disappoint her," he said. "And when you do whatever you're gonna do," he moved his hand over to the holstered knife in his belt. His bruised arm shook weakly and he winced as he took it out and offered it up to Lance. Those purple eyes were half-lidded and dark, making a shiver race up Lance's spine. His rough voice rumbled like a tire on gravel. "Give her my regards."

Should it concern him that he found that kinda hot? Because he did, and it didn't worry him one bit.

Instead, he smiled and took the knife. "Don't worry babe," he said casually. "I will."

Keith smiled back weakly. "Good."

Pidge showed up less than a few seconds later. Keith visibly tried not to wince or cry out when the two of them loaded him into the backseat of Mr. Holt's grungy old station wagon. He stayed conscious for most of the drive, weakly reassuring Lance that he was fine every five seconds or so he checked. He only drifted off as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

Lance would deny how much he freaked out about it 'till the day he died. But thankfully he was able to... motivate the doctors to help Keith just in time for it to matter. He was gonna be fine.

Jessica and her tough guy asshole of a boyfriend? They were gonna be a whole 'nother story when Lance was through with them.


	2. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets revenge for what happened to Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dear jesus this chapter took a while but you guys wanted a sequel and it's finally done  
> warning: this chapter has drug/drugging mentions. and the slightest bit of kidnapping  
> spot the heathers movie and portal 2 reference and you'll get... well, you won't actually get anything but kudos and maybe bragging rights?? I guess??  
> enjoy!

Lance kept his eyes on the road stretched out ahead of him. The streetlights covered Mr. Holt's station wagon in brief bursts of flickering yellow light. The crackling radio was the only thing filling the still silence between him and Pidge. Normally, he'd be happy to sing along to Take On Me or Holding Out for a Hero, but he... wasn't really in the mood for it right now.

First he was gonna drop Pidge off back at their house, maybe pop in and say hi to any Holts still awake at- he checked the little clock on the radio quickly- half past eleven. Probably walk or hitch a cab home. Then spend the next couple hours coming up with a fitting revenge plan with Keith's old conspiracy cork board hopped up on 5 hour energy shots and coffee. He'd either manage not to have a heart attack but stay up till morning came around or zone out and astral project into another dimension while he was actually lying on the floor having a seizure. He truly had the most glamorous life.

Pidge brought out their phone and light like the second coming of Christ filled the dark car. He winced at the brightness, barely missing the red light. Thankfully he caught it just in time to stop the car. "Fuckin' _Chriminy,_ Pidge," he said, blinking away the spots in his vision. "Warn a guy next time."

"Sorry," they said, not sounding that sorry at all. He saw their little sly self-satisfied smile as they turned their screen brightness down. "Forgot I had it maxed."

He snickered. "Sure you did, kiddo." He took one hand off the steering wheel to ruffle their auburn hair. Their hair was already choppy, but he knew damn well they hated when someone messed it up more. Or maybe it was just a reminder of how short they were for a 19 year old. Either way, he knew it annoyed them to no end. "Sure you did." He brought his hand back to the steering wheel as the light turned green.

Pidge huffed out an annoyed breath. From the corner of his eye, he could see them glare at him. "I hate it when you do that." They smoothed their hair down the best they could.

"What?" He raised a brow. "When I call you a kid or when I ruffle your hair a little bit?"

"Both."

"I hate to tell you this, Gremlin Junior," he said, turning the corner. They were in the suburbs of Altea City now, where most of the well-meaning families and ""honest"" people lived. The word was used loosely, mainly 'cause he'd bet good money that most of the 'faithful family men' visited the Lions' Den at the end of the week like any other single person. The Holts were a rare exception. They were probably one of the most innocent families he knew in Altea. If present company was excluded, of course. "But to me, you're like twelve."

"Don't call me that," they told him. "Just cause I'm not gonna have a midlife crisis in like 5 years like you doesn't mean I'm a kid."

"Calm down there, Fun Size," he joked. "Haven't you heard of the phrase 'respect your elders'?"

"Don't worry, Grandpa," they didn't miss a beat. Their arms were crossed and they were still glaring at him, but he knew attempts to hide a smile when he saw them. No feelings were actually hurt. "I have. Have _you_ ever heard of the phrase 'accept your replacements'?"

The light just a few cars in front of them turned red. Perfect. He brought the car to a stop just a few inches behind the bumper of the grungy white truck in front of them. Curling his lips over his teeth, he turned to look at Pidge with a hunched back and slightly squinted eyes.

"Eh?" Lance said in a stereotypical raspy old man voice. He was going for how he remembered his abuelo used to sound. He didn't have much to go on, but he was doing pretty okay despite that. "Whassat?" He leaned closer to them. "No te escuché. Por favor hable, paloma."

Pidge blinked, caught between bewildered and amused. "...Okay, time out," they gestured for him to stop. "What the hell did you just say?"

He reverted back to his usual self. "'I can't hear you,'" he explained. The light turned green and their trek continued. "'Please speak up, pigeon.' It's a pretty fitting nickname for you."

"It's better than 'kiddo', at least." Pidge conceded.

The two settled back into a brief silence. The tinny out-of-focus voice of Paula Abdul went on without a care in the world. He knew he should probably say something. They were only a couple more blocks to the Holt house now. The rest of the trip would only take about a minute or so tops. If he wanted to talk or apologize, it would have to be soon.

Though apparently he didn't need to.

Pidge shifted in their seat, the green hoodie that was nearly too big for them hiking to show a bit more of their black flowery leggings and the very top of their long as hell dark brown combat boots. They cleared their throat. "So," they started. "About Keith..."

"He's going to be fine." That wasn't just a reminder for them. He raised a brow. "What about him?"

"I know," they said. They moved to hug themselves. "It's just that... He looked..." Their eyes shifted out-of-focus for a couple seconds. _"really_ fucked up back there. I mean, I expected to see some shit, but--" He stopped the car right at the end of their driveway. They sighed, forcing their body to relax. "It's nothing." They unclipped their seatbelt quicker than usual. "Thanks for driving me back ho-"

"Hey," Lance grabbed at their wrist. "Wait." His grip wasn't too tight. If they really wanted to, they could get out of it easily. 

But they just froze. Looked at him wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights. "What?" They asked.

"Do you wanna stop?"

They blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?" They asked.

"I mean," he started patiently. "It's scary. I get that." He let go and leaned back in the plush, ripped at some of the edges driver's seat. "I was the same age as you when I joined up with the Lions. You walk down that path, you see a _lot_ of messed up shit. Kids like me getting killed for the stupidest reasons. We have a rule against hurting civilians, but no matter what you do, some usually wind up caught in the crossfire." He still remembered them all. Too many names and faces and unnecessary deaths. 

A lot of them by his own hand.

Lance looked over at them. "You get what I mean?"

"I..." They swallowed. Right now, they looked torn between staying and hearing where Lance was going with this or racing out the car to the safety of their house. He didn't really blame them. "I think so, yeah."

"Good." He gave them a smile. "You're a smart kid, Katie. It's easy to see you in charge of a multi-billion dollar company someday or a master hacker or the first person to figure out how to download their consciousness onto the internet and live forever. Something along any of those lines."

They seemed a bit calmer now. Less tense as they chuckled. "That last one's an interesting idea," they confessed. "But, uh..." They raised a brow at him. "Where are you going with this?"

"This kinda life isn't for everyone," Lance told them. "And I'd hate to see a kid with a bright future like yours get snuffed out for stupid reasons. So if you wanna walk out, I won't judge. No one in the crew will." He shrugged. "'Course, it's not a decision you have to make right now, no going back. If you want to go at any time, the door'll be open for you."

Pidge's expression turned thoughtful as he spoke. He knew that look pretty well by now. He could only imagine the wheels in their head spinning quicker and quicker with every passing moment. Mental scales weighing the options placed on them.

Finally they looked up at him.

"No," they said. "I'm good." He opened his mouth to speak, but they held up a hand to stop him before he could even try. "And before you ask- yeah, I'm sure. I promise. Most of their fingers curled down until the index was the only one left. "But before I go, I have one last question."

"Shoot."

"Who did that to Keith?" Maybe it was just the reflection of the dim streetlight above them, but he could help but notice the glint in their eye. Not sadistic or really threatening, but still vaguely off-putting. Like they planned to make whoever's life a living hell in whatever way they could manage.

Why would he try to keep them from having their fun?

"A fun little gang called De Los Muertos," he said casually. "Apparently some upcoming group with an eye for Altea. Led by some asshole with the least creative name in the world- El Muerte. His girlfriend Jessica seemed to be behind what happened to Keith." He smiled. "Do with that info what you will."

They raised a brow. "We're going after them, right?"

"You bet your _ass_ we are." He said immediately. Insult him once, shame on them. Insult him twice, shame... well, the shame was still on them. After getting back at El Muerte for his disrespect, he was actually gonna leave them alone. They weren't the first gang to swagger about with too-big ambitions thinking Altea City was their oyster. And they wouldn't be the last.

Those other gangs usually shriveled up on their own after a few short months of roaring success. Natural selection, dog-eat-dog world, boom and bust system- whatever you want to call it, that was the way things worked in Altea City. The smart climb to the top, the stupid either shrink down to obscurity or plummet. Either way, gangs like Muerte's little posse had expiration dates. They would've probably been gone in a few months anyways.

But he wasn't gonna wait around for that to happen this time. He wasn't gonna give them the opportunity to insult him a third time. So help him, Lance was gonna make Muerte wish he was _never fuckin' born_ by the time he was done.

But first, Jessica.

"Know a last name or anything else?" Pidge asked and brought out their phone.

He shook his head. "Not really," he said. "But Jessica's a really generic name, so just to let ya' know- she's a redhead. A bunch of freckles on her face like liquid cheetos were sprayed on her. Not really a-"

"Got her," they interrupted. "Jessica Parsons." They showed him the picture they pulled up. It was the right Jessica, with a tight black-streaked ponytail and a jacket slightly too big for her frame. Probably Muerte's, from the swirling skull insignia stitched into the back. Her aviator shades were tipped down the bride of her nose just enough to show the camera she was winking with a shit-eating grin. "This is her, right?"

God, even just _looking_ at her smug-ass face made him wanna punch someone. But instead, he just nodded. "Yup," he said. "That's the Queen Bee herself."

"Alright," Pidge turned their phone off and put it in the pocket of their hoodie. "Starting tomorrow, I'll get to finding any skeletons in her closet. Anything we can use to fucking _obliterate_ her." They smiled like what they said wasn't concerning at all.

He's never been prouder of someone in his entire life. He resisted the urge to tear up and/or hug them.

Instead, he chuckled and gave them a pat on the shoulder. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, kiddo." He said. "Tell Matt and your parents I said hi, okay?" Only Matt really knew what his little sibling did for a living. Good ol' Mr. and Mrs. Holt thought Katie worked at the movie theater (technically not a lie- they still used that old one as a HQ) and that all the sudden new money was just from scholarships or some shit like that. 

He didn't think up the lies, he only backed them up with bullshit. It was easier this way.

To the Holts, Lance was just a gracious coworker kind enough to drive their kid to and from work. Usually in his old baby blue pickup truck. Guess that wasn't really an option anymore. He had to look into a new car.

They nodded. "I will," they grabbed the door handle, then stopped. "You know, my dad can always just use Matt's car to get to work. If you wanna drive this back home, I can come up with--"

"I'll be good," he said. "Don't worry, paloma. A little walk won't kill me." He pulled the key out the ignition and gave the key ring over to them. "And you know what can happen to anyone who tries to mess with me." He unclipped his seat belt and opened the driver's side door. "Call me when you come up with something tomorrow, 'kay?"

They nodded. "Don't worry, Boss." They opened their own door. "I won't let you down."

"I'm not worried about that," Lance said. "I know you." He stepped out of the car and watched Pidge do the same, closing theirs and heading up the driveway. They moved past Matt's brown Volvo and Mrs. Holt's white van so decorated with hail dents it looked like a golf ball.

Pidge stepped onto the short corner walkway to the front porch. The porch light was still on- a sign Matt was still up. They turned to him and gave him a thumb up.

He only moved to close the door once he saw them open the door and step inside. It was only proper manners when you drove someone home to make sure they got in safely. If Mamá had drilled any lesson into his head as soon as he was old enough, it was that.

The lights in the station wagon faded out once all of it's doors were closed. He moved around it till he got to the sidewalk, and started his long walk back to his private apartment a couple blocks or so away.

Other than the occasional car driving past and muffled late-night sitcoms from a few of the houses, it was pretty quiet. There was only a slight breeze ruffling his hair and there were even a few stars out. A perfect night for hanging out with friends until all of you were drunk and giggly messes or riding a motorbike through the empty streets and feeling high on life.

A perfect night wasted on anxiety-riddled hospital visits and walking home completely alone. He usually hated being alone, especially at night. But he knew he could call Keith up nearly anytime he wanted and that little loneliness problem would be fixed. Time practically flew when the two were together. Whether it was getting nostalgic over replaying the games they played as kids, arguing over whether mermaids or aliens existed (usually while high and/or drunk), or planning future heists- it was always better with Keith at his side.

Lance almost pulled out his phone to call him. Maybe see what trouble they could get into and probably wind up in a cell for the rest of the night. Sounded a hell of a lot more fun than walking home alone.

But then he remembered. He couldn't. Right now, Keith was out cold in his hospital bed with a healing concussion and a broken leg. Not to mention the fuckton of scars littering his body. The doctors told him that some would fade out over time, but most looked deep enough to be permanent.

He clenched his fists. Keith was gonna be fine eventually, but that didn't change one fact- he easily could've _died._ All thanks to Muerte.

All thanks to his little lackeys.

All thanks to _Jessica._

If he was gonna be teaching these fuckers, he wanted her to be the first teacher. The only question at the moment was _how._

-

It was just a regular afternoon. Cars whizzed past the Scratch That record shop, all full of busy people with equally busy schedules. None of them really bothered to give the small group of people playing hackey-sack in the nearly empty parking lot anything more than a glance. Who had time for a bunch of hippies in front of a _record shop?_

One of those 'hippies' was Nyma. Just 'Nyma'. Not a lot of people knew what her last name was, and those who did know never told. A tan woman in her late 20s with lean muscles, bleached blonde shoulder length hair with creeping brown roots, and an electric blue lion head tattoo on her right calf. She wore it proudly. And why shouldn't she? She certainly wasn't ashamed to be openly with the Lions.

Their little group went to Scratch That every other week to kill a few hours before the biggest party in the area opened up. It was fun- stupid little tournaments and competitions between certain members of the group. She wouldn't trade it for the world.

This game in particular was just for fun. No bets or anything. Just a circle of friends poking fun at each other and kicking a little old sack decorated with faded red lines around.

"Hey Nyma," speaking of which, her friend Rolo spoke up. "What's the matter, blondie? Gettin' tired? Need a rest?" His cocky grin was practically _begging_ for a comeback.

Nyma let out a breathless laugh at that. Yeah, she was a bit sweaty. But that was just the summer weather... and cause she had to beat Beezer, her younger sibling, in a race through the back alleys behind Scratch That. Probably not the best idea. One she was starting to regret as the humid heat stuck to her skin. There was definitely gonna be pit stains on her brand new pastel blue flower patterned crop top by the time they were finished. If there weren't already.

Oh well. She brushed some strands of hair out of her face. She never could step away from a good (and probably stupid) challenge.

She sure as hell wasn't gonna start now.

"That the best you can do, candy-man?" She raised a brow. "Cause don't get me wrong- I love you dude, but that was pretty damn weak. And I know I'm not the first chick to say that 'bout you." She ended it off with a wink. A chorus of various 'oohs' from the group followed close behind that sentence.

The sack flew over to her before he could come up with a reply. Determined to show off just to prove Rolo wrong, she might have kicked it a bit too hard. It soared over everyone's heads and landed right by the concrete barrier in the first parking spot by the street entrance. Not too bad, if she did say so herself, considering that was about 20 feet or so away.

Nyma held up a hand to stop anyone else. "I kicked it," she said. "I'll go get it." It was barely a few seconds' jog away. Barely even an effort really. She bent down to pick the sack up.

She didn't pay much attention to her friends' sudden nervous warnings. She didn't hear a car pull up into the parking lot, headed straight for the spot she stood. It wasn't until it pushed her down on her ass did she notice the bumper of the pretty nice-looking car backing up.

The car was maroon, decorated with crisp swirling white lines and little black skulls. The metal lining it and the bumper was a clean scratchless bronze-gold color. Close to brass, but not quite. Just above the license plate a foot or so away from her face was a small detail she couldn't help but notice. It was a single name, written in flawless fancy black cursive. A name she remembered hearing from the Boss just a couple days ago.

_Jessica._

A tall skinny woman with a red ponytail stepped out the open driver's side. She moved the phone away from her ear and looked at Nyma with annoyance. Like it was the girl with her legs barely centimeters away from the tires who was at fault right now. _Riight._

"Jesus Christ," Jessica said. "Are you trying to get _killed_ or something?"

Nyma bit back the urge to give her a sarcastic reply. This was definitely the bitch the Boss wanted. "I'm sorry," she said, not really that sorry at all. "It's just that-"

"Listen," Jessica cut her off. "Don't get me wrong, but I don't really give a shit." She slammed her car door shut and turned away from her, heading to the store. "Just watch where you're going next time." She brought the phone back up to her ear. "Sorry about that, baby; I almost dented my car on some..." She glanced back at Nyma. "...hippie lesbian chick."

Nyma squeezed the sack like a stress toy. "I'm not a hippie!" She called out, moving her legs out from under the car and getting to her feet.

Jessica didn't even acknowledge her. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry," she assured. "I'll get the album for you and _then_ drop off the money at the bank for the shipment." A pause, then a sigh and a soft tone. "You worry too much, Muerte- trust me, we have enough to cover the shipment." Nyma peered into the car. The passenger seat had a briefcase that practically screamed _I have hundreds of thousands of dollars, please steal me_ just casually sitting on the white leather. She looked over to Jessica, who she could barely hear now. "And once we have the shipment, the Lions won't have a chance in hell."

Nyma brought her phone out of her jeans' back pocket. The Boss needed to know about this immediately.

"Hey Nym," Rolo called out. "You still playing?"

She threw the sack over to the group. "You guys keep going," she said, picking out the right contact. "I just need to do this real quick." She pressed the call button and brought the phone up to her ear, leaning against Jessica's car.

One dial tone droned at her. A pause.

Two. Another pause.

Three. She started to strum her purple painted fingernails against Jessica's roof. _Come on,_ she thought. Please _pick up._ She knew he'd want to hear about this as soon as possible.

"Hello?" Blue Lion finally picked up.

"Hey Boss," she said. "It's Nyma. I need to tell you something."

"Nyma," he sighed. "I'm in the middle of visiting Keith, so can this wait?"

She couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I don't think you'll want it to wait after you hear 'bout it."

"What are you talking about?" He sounded a bit more interested now.

"I'm _talking about_ Jessica," she started to explain. "Apparently she's gonna go to the bank to drop off a briefcase full of cash for some shipment. I thought that maybe you'd wanna interfere?"

Silence settled between the two for a few long moments. For a second, she thought she accidentally hung up on him. Her phone did that sometimes. Finally after what felt like forever, the Boss replied.

"I'm on my way."

-

"Lance," Hunk fidgeted with a spare bolt nervously. Because _of course_ he kept stuff like that in his car. "Are you sure about all this?" 

The two were parked out in the alley behind Altea City's only bank. A few feet away was the small empty lot to the side of the pristine white building. The only spots relatively close to the building that were still open right now. What could he say? Today was a busy day for the bank and the entire area. Whether or not he asked a couple of his crew to park their cars in the parking lot for a couple hours didn't really matter.

What mattered was the plan. Hopefully it would go without a hitch, but he had backups close by just in case. Plans rarely went the way they were thought up.

Part of him couldn't help but hope this one did, cause it was a damn good one. If he could say so himself.

"Hunk," he said, looking over to his best friend. "If it makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to come with me." He looked over Keith's knife in his hand, practically memorizing every detail. He couldn't _wait_ to use it soon. "All you have to do was drive me and give me the needle when Jessica finally shows up. And you've pretty much done those things already. So if you don't want to continue past this point, I'm not gonna force you. But I'm doing this with or without you."

"I know," Hunk sighed. "But this whole thing feels..." He shrugged. "really _skeevy._ Like more than anything else we've done. I know the stuff in the syringe is only to knock her out for the drive, and I know you enough to know you'd never do anything more than what I know you're going to, but it still feels... wrong. I can't really explain it."

He placed a hand on Hunk's tense shoulder. "Hunk, buddy," his voice was softer now. "Nothing we do is technically right. And I know this is probably one of my more... _extreme_ plans for murdering someone. But when Pidge and I were driving Keith to the hospital, he passed out. For a couple minutes, I..." He sighed, casting his eyes down. "... I thought he'd _died._ And for those couple minutes I was absolutely _terrified._ We got lucky, but if we weren't..." He trailed off. He looked back to meet Hunk's concerned gaze. "I'd do anything for each and every one of you guys. If you, or Keith, or Pidge died, I'd..." He took a stuttering breath. "It would be my fault. I'd never forgive myself. These guys..." 

Shit, he was tearing up now. There wasn't time to break down right now- Jessica could show up at any moment and he'd be too busy blubbering like a worthless baby to notice. He quickly wiped his eyes. "...They got too close to that point. I can't give them the chance to go all the way next time. Okay?"

Hunk looked... _stunned._ Lance knew he wasn't usually so open with anyone, not even his best friends. It was easier to keep it all to himself. He didn't want to be a burden on anyone in any way.

But screw it. Hunk deserved his honesty, not his little stage act.

Without uttering a single word, Hunk leaned closer to him. Lance's hand slid behind his neck to land on his opposite shoulder as they got closer and closer together. Hunk went all the way until he had Lance smack dab in the middle of one of his world famous hugs.

Hunk's hugs were always perfect. It squeezed you just the right amount to make you feel comfortable but close. Safe and secure but squished. Once you got a Hunk hug, you didn't need any more hugs in your life- you could get by just from the _memory_ of it. Just the way he knew Lance liked it. Just the way his mom used to hug him.

Neither of them said anything. They didn't need to.

If a mere picture was worth a thousand words, this moment was worth a million easily.

And then that moment was interrupted by a flash of red and gold paint. Jessica's car was lurking for a close spot. He didn't have too long now to keep the plan moving along. As quickly as possible, he tapped at Hunk's shoulder.

"Hunk," Lance hissed. "Buddy. Luz de mi vida." Hunk pulled away quickly with a concerned expression. "Jessica's almost in position." He held out a hand. "Give me the needle quickly. And tell me," he raised a brow. "You coming with or what?"

Hunk reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. Most of the stuff in there was old junk they didn't really need anymore- car dealership magazines they used to pick their dream cars when they were kids, rough sketches of the new Lions logo (with the one they ended up picking outlined in pen), and other stuff without sentimental value. But on top of all those things was the needle filled with whatever knockout drug Coran cooked up in his chemistry set. He didn't really care about specific details. If it worked, it was fine by him.

Hunk took it and handed it to him with a small smile and a quirked brow. "'Light of my life'? Really Lance?" He teased. "You're such a sap, you know that right?"

Lance met his gaze with his own hopeful smile. "Is that a yes?"

Hunk didn't say anything- he didn't really need to. He just nodded and reached for the door handle. The two moved out of the car quickly, slipping out the alley Hunk's car was parked with ease. Lance flipped the hood of his jacket up, hiding Keith's knife in one of the pockets.

The hunt was almost over.

They just needed to wait for the right time to pounce.

They watched Jessica pull her car and park into a spot roughly twenty feet away from them. She seemed to sigh and took her keys out the ignition. She unclipped her seatbelt and opened the door, unaware of the two eyeing her. Briskly, she moved behind the car over to the passenger's side.

In that moment, the two looked to each other. In the span of five seconds they both seemed to have a mental conversation. 

Hunk raised a brow. Lance nodded.

The last leg of the hunt was on. They started to move.

Jessica let out a gasp as her body was unceremoniously slammed against the closing car door. The arm with the briefcase was wrenched harshly behind her back as her unseen assailant kept her against her own car. She winced at the sudden burst of pain, but didn't cry out. She refused to give them the satisfaction.

Another pair of hands took the briefcase out of her weakened grasp. Whoever currently had her against her own car suddenly clicked into place. She sighed and rested her forehead against her roof. "I'll give you credit," she said. "You certainly know how to make an entrance, Rosales."

Lance smiled. "Well, thank you," he said. "But trust me," he leaned in closer, harsh words whispered next to her ear. "you haven't seen _anything_ yet, cariña."

She rolled her eyes. "That supposed to scare me?"

He hummed. "Not really," he said. "Why? You disappointed?"

"A little bit," she confessed. "I would've thought the head of the biggest gang in Altea would be a bit more..." She shrugged as much as she could manage. "Intimidating, I guess. Guess I was-"

A sudden pricking feeling in her neck cut her off. It wasn't... unpleasant, but unexpected. It felt like ice was climbing into her veins. Her vision sharpened for a moment, her senses heightened and honed for a split second. Then she started to feel... light. Airy, like floating in a lucid dream. Her vision blurred a bit. The slight pain of the now nearly empty syringe leaving her neck and the uncomfortable angle her body pressed against her own car became mere concepts.

"What was that?" The teasing tone Lance used now sounded far-off, like he was trying to talk to her from the opposite side of a long tunnel. She furrowed her brows slightly. That couldn't be right. Lance was pretty much right behind her. "Didn't quite catch that. Were you gonna say something else?"

She swallowed. It felt like her mouth was filled with cotton balls. She could feel her heart beating in her ears. It was getting faster and faster in worry, but she didn't really feel worried.

She couldn't feel anything over the haze quickly overtaking her system.

"Wha..." Her words slurred. "Wha'd you jus' do?" She eyed the needle visible in the corner of her eye. "Whassat?"

Lance quirked a brow in faux surprise. "Oh, this?" He stepped back from her and gestured to it. "Well, I figured you'd need something to mellow you out for this next part." He passed the needle back to Hunk, who also held the briefcase. "It'll also numb any pain," he reached into his jacket with a chuckle. But his next words were anything but lighthearted. "Which is a _lot_ more merciful than that little _stunt_ you put Keith through." He pulled out Keith's knife and held it in her field of vision.

"Whaddya gonna do?" She meant for that to sound threatening, but it came out slurred and an underside of fear she couldn't hide. "Kill me?"

He scoffed at that. "Of _course not,"_ he said. "I wouldn't go through all this trouble just to end it so quickly. You see, I like to think I'm a pretty forgiving guy. Muerte's radioactive tattoo was just a little lesson. But," he pulled her towards him and positioned the knife's flat side cool against her throat. "I guess you and your tryhard of a boyfriend need some harsher teachings. So you, my buddy, and I are gonna go for a little trip you're never gonna be able to forget." He moved the knife away. "But first things first..." He moved her shaky-legged figure to face him.

His gaze was cool and piercing, with a glint of sadistic light to them. They reminded her of the knife in his hand.

"Keith wanted me to send his regards." He looked over to Hunk. "Where should I put the mark?"

"I dunno, man." Hunk said with a shrug. "Maybe the top of one of her hands?" He only looked minorly uncomfortable about this.

"'Mark'?" She asked. It was getting harder to speak in coherent thought. "Whaddya mean by 'mark'?"

"I'm going to carve Keith's initials in," he said casually, like he was talking about a jack-o-lantern design for Halloween instead of a person. "Figured it'd be fitting with his knife and all. Mark you a bit like your little lackeys marked him." Most of the scars would be permanent for him. "By the time I'm done teaching you, you're gonna know _exactly_ how he felt."

She glared at him. "You're _fuggin' psychotic,"_ she said. "Y'know that, right?"

Lance simply shrugged with a smile. "You say tomato, I say tomahto, hon." He reached for her limp wrist. "Now this won't hurt a bit, promise."

She watched him move the knife in position. The tip of it traced a straight steady line from her wrist to just above her wrist. Red followed wherever it led, the cuts not deep enough to rise to the surface. It should've hurt, or at least _stung_ a bit, but it just felt... numb. Pins and needles prickled all her nerves. Whatever it was he put into her, it certainly worked.

She watched him meticulously cut a 'K' into her skin as bloody and red as the person it symbolized. The second one on her other hand went about the same, Lance's grip on her lax and practically _daring_ her to try and run away. Part of her knew she should- whatever he had planned for her definitely wasn't good. But right now it felt like if she even tried taking a step, she'd wind up on the asphalt.

So instead she waited it out uneasily.

Finally after what felt like a crawling hour of a knife in her skin, Lance let go of her with a satisfied hum. He admired his handiwork with a slight smile that didn't do anything to settle her nerves.

"Now," he said, moving to the back of the car and popping the trunk open. "Time to take a little drive, Parsons." He leaned against the car with a knowing grin. "Hop on in. We're gonna go visit your boyfriend."

Confusion cut it's way through the muddled haze. "What?" She shook her head. That couldn't be right. "He's gonna kill ya when 'e sees whatcha did to me, y'know that right?"

Lance shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not worried," he said. "I've snapped guys twice as tough as him in half." He looked over to Hunk. "Isn't that right, buddy?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Hunk answered, placing a ginger hand on her shoulder. "If I were you, Lance wouldn't be the one I'd be worried about." He started to lead her toward the empty trunk. It was definitely big enough for her to fit into. Her stomach churned at the thought, but she couldn't fight against the gentle leading. "Come on," he chided. "It'd be better just to get it over with, I promise."

She had no reason to trust him. He was one of the Lions' lieutenants, after all. But what choice did she really have? Even if she could run, Lance was blocking the way out. He definitely wouldn't take it too well.

At least this guy was kinda nice. He let her lean on him like an old friend leading a drunk to her car to drive her home, instead of forcing her along like the usual kidnapping accomplice. Little bit of credit where it was due.

"Where're we goin'?" Jessica asked, moving for the most comfortable position in the soon-to-be cramped space. Lance said they were going to visit Muerte- where was he? She wracked her mind for the memory, but she couldn't find it no matter how hard she tried.

Lance shot a sickly-sweet smile at her. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll see soon enough." He shrugged, picking her car keys out of her jeans pocket. "Or maybe not, who knows? That's for me to know," the sadistic gleam in his eyes flickered back to life. "And for _you_ to find out."

With that, the trunk shut. She was shrouded in complete darkness.

-

Jessica woke up to the same complete darkness and cramped space. Her head was pounding with a monstrous headache. Both her hands stung with a dull pain. Where even was she? Why was she here? She wracked her memory for what the hell happened.

It all came rushing back to her in an instant. Drug-addled hazy memories filled the blanks in well enough. She must've drifted off during Lance's little 'drive' to see Muerte. But the car wasn't rumbling anymore. Were they already here? If they were, why was she still in the trunk? 

...Where was 'here', anyway?

She could faintly hear noises outside. A pretty loud crowd cheering what she guessed was a few feet above where the car was. An announcer saying something she couldn't quite make out. The rumbling purr of cars starting up. But not just any kind of car- she knew which kind it was.

Muerte's monster truck rally was today.

Lance said they were going to see him.

A sickening mix of dread, realization, and horror socked her in the stomach. Oh no. _Oh nononononO--_

 _"Help!"_ she started banging her fists against the trunk with all the desperate strength she could muster. She called out as loud as she could. "Please! Someone help me!"

 _Someone please hear me,_ she mentally pleaded. _I don't care how or why, just let_ someone _hear me before it's too late._ She wasn't really in the position to be picky.

But both her cries and prayers fell on deaf ears. The trucks starting up and the rowdy crowd drowned her out too easily.

-

Lance wasn't really that into monster truck races and all that. He couldn't explain it- it just didn't interest him. Watching mindless destruction lost its flavor pretty quickly, especially after he got a taste for doing it himself occasionally. Now these things were much too tame for his taste.

But this show was an exception.

He had to hand it to Muerte- he knew how to handle his truck pretty well. He made his competitors look like complete rookies in comparison. No one even came close to how well he did at his events.

But if he had to pick a favorite out of them all, he'd have to say it was the last one for the day. Not just cause one of the guards he bribed gave him VIP access to the grounds to watch it up close and personal, though that was certainly a bonus. It was even more gratifying there, tire-tracked dirt beneath his shoes and sitting on the same railing the demolition derby cars scraped against a few hours ago.

That event was his favorite because that was the one they brought Jessica's car in for. He could barely hear her calling for someone to help her out as the two trucks started up eager to race. He could hear the helplessness and fear in her voice, and he relished in every single second of it.

Even better- her car was arranged in Muerte's path, matching color schemes and designs almost perfectly. It was at the very end of the car row. Perfectly positioned for at least one of Muerte's tires to crush the trunk. He was ready for the perfect show and the most striking message he'd ever sent.

And boy, Muerte did _not_ disappoint.

He practically left his opponent in the dust, rushing and crushing over all the cars in his path with ease. For a pretty damn heavy-looking truck, the thing practically _flew_ at the jump majestically like an eagle. Piloting a blimp. It soared over most of the other cars in the path.

And landed right on the trunk of the last car in the row, crushing it to oblivion. Lance couldn't help but grin at the sight. He loved when a plan went perfectly. It was always such a satisfying rush.

Muerte got out of the car to bask in the cheers of his adoring fans. That satisfied rush only grew at seeing the red-skinned remains of his other handiwork to get back at Muerte for wronging him. He got up from the railing to walk towards Muerte, clapping slowly.

The self-satisfied grin dropped off Muerte's face once he spotted him. His brows furrowed in angered confusion. He stepped down from the truck, towering only a few inches above Lance on ground level. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" He spat.

Lance stayed calm. He wasn't intimidated in the slightest, no matter how angry Muerte looked. He was too busy fighting down the bubbling giddiness in his system. He needed to stay cool and professional for this. He could freak out and victory dance it out of his system later.

He held up a hand. "Calm down there, big guy," he said. "I'm not stupid enough to pick a fight with you here." He put his hand down. "I just heard that you were competing in this and wanted to check it out, kay?" He winked and shot a finger gun at him. "Good job, by the way. I really-"

Muerte didn't look convinced at all. He grabbed at Lance's shirt and pulled him closer. "Cut the shit, Rosales," he growled, fire in his eyes. "What are you _really_ here for?"

He sighed. "You're no _fun,_ man." He said, moving out of his grip easily. "Let's keep this civil, yeah?"

"I could kill you _right now,"_ Muerte crossed his arms and glared icily down at him. "So don't avoid my question."

Lance shrugged the threat off like water down his back. "I mean, you _could,"_ he confessed. "But you're not really that special. A lotta things could theoretically kill me right now. But you," he returned the icy look. "I know you won't kill me."

Muerte raised a brow. "And why's that?"

Lance smiled. "'Cause if you kill me," he said. "You won't get to know why I'm here. Not to mention a few of my crew are up there in the crowd," he pointed a thumb up at them. "You strike me down, one of them _will_ kill you. Maybe not today, but soon after. No question." He grabbed at Muerte's shirt, forcing him down to face-level. His tone dropped the fake friendliness. "So shut up and let me talk, mkay?"

He reluctantly nodded.

Lance let go of him. "Good," he said. "Glad you can listen to reason after all." He reached into his jacket's pocket, quickly finding what he was looking for. "So you're right- I didn't come here to watch the rally. I came here to send you a message."

Muerte didn't look too impressed yet. No matter. "Which would be?"

"Listen," he said, turning away from him. "You can mess with me personally or screw up some of my operations no problem. You wouldn't be the first with that little bright idea, and you probably wouldn't be the last either. It doesn't matter to me. I can always recover, and I wouldn't really hold it against you. Kicking me down a notch is a harsh reminder I need sometimes."

"Rosales," Muerte said. "What's your poi-"

Lance whipped around and grabbed his shirt again, cutting him off and wrenching him back down to eye level. _"I'm getting to the fucking point, meathead."_ he hissed. "Just give me a damn second to build up to it and don't interrupt me again." He raised a brow. "¿Comprende?"

Muerte nodded. He didn't hide his surprise fast enough this time.

"Good," he said, tone only the slightest bit softer. "My point is this- you can go after my or my operations no problem. But the _second_ you start fuckin' with _my_ crew? _My_ friends?" He glared daggers at Muerte. "You're fucking _dead,_ you hear me?" He practically growled the last line out.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Is that a threat?"

He chuckled darkly. What an idiot- of _course_ it was. "Of course not," he let go of Muerte's shirt and stepped back. "But _this_ is." He threw Jessica's keys over to Muerte, who snatched them with a confused look. "When you pop open the trunk," he tilted his head towards Jessica's car. Muerte's eyes followed, and he could see the realization and horror dawn on his face. "Just keep what I said in mind. Don't make her mistake."

With that, Lance turned around and walked out. He only snuck a single peek of Muerte popping the trunk open and falling to his knees. The rush of satisfaction washed over him once again.

-

Keith came to slowly, lightheaded and dizzy. White light bled in through the darkness of his closed eyelids slowly, poking gently at his consciousness like he remembered his mom used to before she disappeared. Then it became more insistent. Other sensations faded in- the soft sheets of a hospital bed, the tight gauze wrapped around a couple sections of skin, the throbbing pain in his right leg surrounded by what he assumed to be a cast.

And then he heard the voices.

"Wait," a feminine sounding voice he didn't recognize sounded. "Sir, he's waking up. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Yes," a familiar voice sounded immediately after. "Of course." A pause. "Could you...?"

Apparently they caught on to what he wanted. "Of course," they said. "I'll be just outside if you need me, Mr. Rosales. Call if he needs anything." A few fading footsteps against tile sounded.

"I will, Shay." He said. "Thanks."

"It's no problem, Lance." This 'Shay' said. A second or so later, a nearby door shut. Probably the one to his room.

A smooth hand held his. His brows furrowed slightly, trying to force himself to open his eyes. He groaned, fighting his way to full consciousness. The reassuring squeeze on his hand fueled him just enough. His eyes slowly fluttered open to land on the face he expected to see at his bedside.

"Well," Lance's voice was tinged with amusement. "Good morning, sunshine." The warm smile he had right now made Keith feel a bit less shitty. Just a bit. He raised a brow. "How are you feeling?"

Keith groaned. "Like I got tag-teamed by bigger versions of the rock 'em sock 'em robots." He squeezed Lance's hand back. "But I'll be up and running in no time, Boss." He smiled slightly. "Don't worry about me."

Lance returned it. "I wasn't."

Keith scoffed. "I'm pretty sure you were close to tears before I passed out," he said. "Don't give me that macho bullshit."

He chuckled at that. "There's the smartass Keith Kogane I know and love," he paused, seemingly realizing what he'd just said. His face flushed in embarrassment. "I-I didn't mean that in like, a weird way or anything. I mean, not that being into guys is _weird,_ I've been with a few guys myself. Bi as hell guy here, I just meant--"

Keith couldn't help but laugh. "Lance," he chided. "It wasn't weird. Calm down, I know what you meant." He weakly held their intertwined hands up. "I wouldn't still be doing this if I didn't feel the same either way." He raised a brow. "Remember that Halloween party at Hunk's last year?"

Lance raised his own. "The one where we ended up shotgunning in the basement for two hours before I slipped and broke my ass?"

Keith nodded. "Yeah, that one," he said. "I never told you something important about that night." 

He didn't really know why he was bringing this up now. Guess almost dying really put things in perspective. He only had one life- why waste it hiding shit? He should live it to the fullest. If Lance didn't feel the same way, so what? He was still Keith's best friend anyways. Life was too short to live in fear.

With that thought, Keith's other hand moved to cup Lance's face. Lance stared at him, breathless and wide-eyed. It was a gorgeous look on him. "What..." He swallowed. "What would that be?"

Keith stared at him fondly. "Even when you were lying on the couch complaining about how your ass hurt every 2 seconds," he said. "I... _really_ wanted to kiss you." He shrugged. "Maybe a little bit just to shut you up," Lance chuckled at that. "But not just 'cause of that. I love you too, but it's more than that." He cast his eyes down. "I..." Funny- 'I love you' rolled off his tongue like it was nothing. This was harder for him to say.

But he did.

Looking into Lance's eyes earnestly, he said something he'd never said to anyone else. Three words that no one else had worked his hardest to earn.

"I trust you."

Keith bit his lip, looking down at Lance's for a split second. "Can I...?"

Lance let out a breathless laugh, leaning closer. _"Hell yeah."_ he breathed.

That was all the permission he needed.

Keith has kissed many people in his life, and he's seen Lance kiss many people over the years they'd known each other. Usually while fueled by alcohol. Those kisses were frantic and usually sloppy, like both parties were going to die if they separated from each other. They kissed like they lived their lives- fast-paced and rough, always reaching for more and more as they went on. They rarely called their partner back after that night, so it didn't really matter how rough they were being as long as both parties liked it.

This kiss was different. It was gentle and cautious, both testing out the waters. Instead of the usual raging wildfire, this kiss was the waves lapping the shore on a calm day. Instead of frantic movements like their last moments alive, it was meticulous and slow like they had all the time in the world. It was different and a bit weird, but a wonderful kind of different and a bit weird.

Keith wanted to deepen the kiss, lean closer, but his broken leg objected. Sharp pain rushed up in protest as soon as he tried to lean in closer. So he had the opposite effect- he winced and moved back to lay down.

Lance looked at him with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "I'm fine. Just... still hurts like a bitch." Which brought his mind to a different track. "Speaking of which," he raised a brow. "How's taking down Muerte and his gang comin' along?"

Lance smiled. "They're gone," he squeezed Keith's hand. "They had a huge weapons shipment coming in, trying to take the Lions out and take the city for themselves." He shrugged. "Guess they never figured we'd find out about it and hijack the boat." He looked back to Keith. "Sorry I couldn't save some fun for you. But if it helps, I thought about you every time I shot one of 'em. Especially Muerte."

"You know just the right things to say," Keith joked. "Was Jessica another one of your targets?"

Lance shook his head. "No," he said. "I had something special for her. Just for you."

Keith raised a brow. "Oh?" He asked. "And what was that?"

"Oh, nothing big," he reached into his jacket and pulled out the knife Keith gave him, laying it on the bedside table. "Just used this to carve your initials into her hands, locked her in the trunk of her own car, and put that car into the monster truck rally Muerte was competing in that day." He shrugged like it was nothing. "You know, the usual stuff."

...Wow.

Keith stared at him wide-eyed. "That..." He started. "That... was all because of _me?"_

"Well, you nearly died," he said. "They scared me shitless with that little stunt they pulled on you. I had to teach them a lesson." Another squeeze. _"No one_ messes with my crew." He smiled. "'Specially not my top lieutenant. I-"

Whatever Lance was going to say next didn't matter much. Keith needed to kiss him again, and he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always appreciated!  
> my tumblr: squishy--squish

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated  
> even if I don't respond, I guarantee I've read it  
> my tumblr: squishy--squish


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